


Fool

by guiltyhousewife



Category: Aladdin (1992), Aladdin: The Animated Series
Genre: Anal Fingering, Drugged Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, Humiliation, M/M, Public Hand Jobs, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23831470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guiltyhousewife/pseuds/guiltyhousewife
Summary: Jafar puts Prince Ali in his place.A request that I filled from fandomsecrets.I am still taking requests!
Relationships: Aladdin/Jafar (Disney)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 163





	Fool

That fool.

That impudent little fool.

His audacity to spring uninvited, inopportunitively out-of-the-blue, the grandiose entrance, his affected nature of speaking, his peacock outfit, his young, shameless face jutting up into Jafar’s with a smile that bordered on despicable…all of that was apparently not enough for this unwelcome stranger, because here he was, sitting at the royal banquet table, next to the beautiful, yet fuming princess, and across from a smiling, albeit clueless, Sultan.

And across from Jafar.

And up came a candied fig from the stranger’s plate as he chatted, and flattered and grated on Jafar’s nerves, in it popped into his wide, smiling mouth, and out the finger came, and Jafar’s eyes narrowed as the little upstart dared to make eye contact with a silent Jafar and

Lick.

His.

Finger.

Clean.

And he winked! He winked one dark, glittering eye in Jafar’s direction before returning to gazing lovesick at the princess.

Jafar’s grip on his snake staff became white-knuckled and he vowed that before this evening came to a close, this Prince Ali-a-boo-boo would pay dearly for such disrespect.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hot!

It was far too hot. Unbearable.

Aladdin stumbled down the hallway in a haze, thankful this part of the palace seemed abandoned as he yanked on the collar of his kingly white robes.

When did it get some damned hot?

One minute he was schmoozing with the Sultan and his daughter, who, although still glaring at him, at least was seated next to him – hey, that was a start! – and the next? Drinks in the royal advisor’s chambers for everyone and then things got fuzzy. All he remembered is lurching to his feet, claiming fatigue and a desire to return to his guest chambers, before rushing, rather undignified, out into the blessed courtyard air. But even there, the heat rose in him.

He paused in his aimless search for his rooms, or a servant to tell him where his rooms were. He leaned against the cool, marble wall, feeling it kiss his skin through his sweat-soaked shirt.

He groaned in relief and his head lolled back, closing his eyes to listen to his body which, through persistence, made him aware of another pressing issue.

His inexplicable arousal.

He grit his teeth as his cock throbbed between his thighs once more. It felt as if his entire being had one, pulsing, slickened core and he resisted the urge to curl around the sensation. He just had to get to his rooms, somewhere private and safe, and take care of this so he could forget his mortification in the morning.

But he felt dizzy. He turned, slowly and laboriously, to press his fevered brow against the stone, his fists hanging in front of him. Just one more minute of rest; to walk further seemed a labor too far.

Of their own accord, his hips pushed forward to rock gently against clenched fist and he bit his lip and sighed as the pressure soothed him for a moment.

“My, my, what a spectacle you’ve made of yourself.”

Out of the darkened corridor, the Sultan’s vizier came, an oil-slick smile on his face.

Every ounce of conscious logic screamed at Aladdin to jump, to correct himself, to smooth his clothes and make up some excuse and lie deeper into the lie itself, but the best he could do was roll his eyes wetly, without full comprehension, towards Jafar.

Jafar clucked his tongue in mock sympathy.

“Poor princeling, not feeling well, are we?”

“How…how did you..?” his tongue felt heavy and clumsy in his mouth and Aladdin swallowed thickly.

Jafar smiled, tapping the side of his nose, and said no more.

He came close, too close, Aladdin fretted, and he attempted to roll back, facing Jafar, crying out softly as the slightest movement made his world spin alarmingly.

A long-fingered, strong hand settled on the small of his back and stayed him.

He panted from the effort as Jafar’s voice came low into his ear, “No, no, you stay right there, _your highness_ , and let me attend to your every need.”

Questions unable to be uttered bubbled on Aladdin’s lips, but all he managed was a throaty moan when that same long-fingered hand slipped below the waistband of his pants and curled around his throbbing erection.

“Oh God.”

“Heathen” Jafar hissed, and tightened his hold.

Aladdin felt the weight of the older, taller man fill in the space behind him and hips fit onto his backside, but was unable to concentrate on anything save the hand on his cock.

But it did not move.

Aladdin whimpered, and pressed forward into it, hips stuttering.

Jafar’s beard tickled his ear and he felt, rather than saw the dark man smile.

“Of course, Prince Ali, as you wish.”

And he stroked him. God help him, he stroked him perfectly. Curling, twisting, twining, sure, upward pressure on his length that set his jaw agape and he panted stupidly into the marble, ready to say thank you, if he could voice it.

The back of his shirt was rucked up, and his pants pulled to his knees, the cooler air a kiss on his sweat-slicked thighs.

His hips moved up and into Jafar’s hand, and a litany of pleases increased, only to stop in shock when those long fingers found him again, this time tapping at his entrance.

“Don’t be scared, little prince, I’ll take care of you,” Jafar purred like smoke into his ear.

And into him. Into him that finger pressed and Aladdin cried out, alarmingly loud. Jafar hissed in concern and yanked the turban off Aladdin’s head.

“Silence, you fool!”

Down spilled his sweat-soaked hair, a damp mop of black waves, and Jafar reached around and shoved the turban into his open, mewling mouth, effectively gagging him.

Aladdin’s hand clumsily groped behind him and caught Jafar’s wrist, with fingers still inside him, and instead of pulling it free, twisted it deeper into himself as his hips canted backwards.

“Ah, Prince Ali, we are being greedy.” Jafar whispered in amusement, his finger crooking inside in a way that made Aladdin see stars.

Another finger joined the first, as he was continuously stroked, and Aladdin’s legs fell apart like a newborn foal and his back bowed, piercing himself further on Jafar’s clever fingers.

A pained, keening noise twisted out of him when those fingers found something within him, and brushed it again, hunting it with smooth gentlemanly fingertips over and over again.

“Please please please please” Aladdin moaned, smothered, into his own turban.

“Face me, boy!” Jafar suddenly demanded and a strong hand at his shoulder wheeled him around, fingers departing him and leaving him empty and wanting. The sudden movement bounced the back of his skull off the marble and a shock of pain left him breathless, feeling a warm damp seep underneath his mussed hair.

He gaped up at Jafar, open mouthed and panting, whining, half-tripping on his own pants, half held up by Jafar’s grip on his shoulder.

Jafar looked into that wanting face – seeing wet, wild dark eyes, a flushed face, swollen, shinning lips, a cock flushed and wanting bobbing between his sprawled thighs, and felt desire of his own coil snakelike in his belly. No matter, he’d take care of that later. Tonight was a lesson.

He resumed stroking his younger partner, who half-sobbed in relief to be touched again.

When he came, he painted his shirtfront and open thighs, and slid down the wall, hand at his shoulder abandoning him so he sprawled in his own seed, sweat, and panting desire.

Jafar’s face loomed, and he hissed, “Don’t ever toy with me, boy.”

And he was gone, a turned, maroon back swiftly retreating down the hallway.

Aladdin stared after him, barely comprehending, and did not hear Jafar’s low laugh or his quiet,

“Oh, and do try to clean yourself up rather quickly. You are in the Sultan’s corridors, after all.”


End file.
